


Idiot.

by hanatuite



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 06:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanatuite/pseuds/hanatuite
Summary: It's Christmas Day and London is covered in a blanket of white snow, capping the roof of St.Paul's cathedral...and 221B Baker Street. The cold is biting, but John doesn't notice. He has other things on his mind...like a famous Christmas tradition.





	Idiot.

Christmas Day, Outside 221B Baker Street

"Boring, boring, boring" uttered Sherlock under his breath, as he fumbled to find his keys in his coat pocket. The long, pale fingers fished around every crevice for a metallic clang that would indicate the location of the desired object.

"What do you mean BORING?! I could have died, Sherlock! That driver could have killed me! Your coat flapping in my face wasn't exactly helping the situation either."

Sherlock scoffed in front of him, facing away.

A car horn beeped loudly behind John, as the driver rolled down the window and shouted several imaginative expletives at him. He fought the urge to turn around and chase after the car and teach the driver a lesson, but he had other things on his mind that evening.

"Oh John stop being dramatic; the car wasn't even in your trajectory. Took me less than two seconds to do the maths. Plus, we were concerned with more pressing matters."

John had given up at this stage. Arguing with Sherlock normally ended in humiliation or broken bones, or a combination of both. They were standing outside 221B Baker Street together as Sherlock cursed under his breath- still unable to find his keys. John looked around at his surroundings. London was beautiful tonight; like a living, breathing creature pulsing around him. The whole city was coated in a blanket of snow that the night before had brought and stray snowflakes continued to fall gently and settle on the various buildings and people of London. 

John walked up to the ebony door of the flat that he shared with his best friend Sherlock Holmes. Best friend. But oh, just for one night, they could be so much more. He was snapped from his thoughts and touched his fingers lightly against the door knocker. The biting cold of the metal shocked him like electricity. Sherlock spoke without looking up. 

"I wouldn't bother with that if I were you, unless you're planning on summoning the ghost of Jacob Marley. Mrs.Hudson is gone to spend Christmas with Mr.Chatterjee. Looks like he recovered from the bruise she dealt him to his right eye."

John's face sunk. He walked back down the steps, resuming his position behind Sherlock.  
"For God's sake."

Sherlock removed his hand from his coat pocket and put it between his teeth, pulling the glove from his slender fingers before plunging them back into his pocket, causing the various objects to jangle about. John couldn't help notice how beautiful Sherlock looked tonight. He felt his cheeks go red so he pulled his jacket collar up around his face, mimicking Sherlock. 

"God, it's cold tonight" he said, covering up his embarrassment.

Sherlock offered no reply. He was breathtaking. He was wearing his long coat, that John was so familiar with; snowflakes gently landing on the fabric before melting away. He could see that Sherlock was shivering. The cold had touched his skin, making it appear paler and more like delicate porcelain than ever before. The street lamps glowing through the London chill illuminated the entire street in a warm light, casting shadows under Sherlock's angular features. His eyes were so blue and piercing, that John believed they could burn away the cold. Hell,those eyes that contained the universe in them; so blue and cold, giving a glimpse into the hurricane inside that incomparable head. His chocolate curls were so perfectly dishevelled, falling naturally over his face.

John had been preparing for this day for weeks. Every night, he had imagined the moment over and over in his mind until he drove himself insane and had to divert his attention to something else. However, any distraction from his nightmare-riddled sleep was welcome. His heart pounded so hard in his chest that he thought he might initiate a heart attack, and he was breathing so hard now that he feared he would attract Sherlock's attention and reveal his innermost thoughts. He took deep breaths to calm himself. Yesterday morning, John woke up early and had bought some mistletoe from a home decoration shop around the corner before Sherlock had even reared his head from his slumber. Then just as he settled down for bed-though sleep would surely be impossible-he set an alarm for 3am. When the shrill call of his alarm sounded at the designated time, John creeped out of bed and hung the mistletoe above the door before returning to his rest. 

Then there was only one final thing to be done. Christmas Day. Today. Sherlock and John were out on a case earlier that day, investigating the case of a woman who claimed that her dead husband had returned to her in the form of a stray cat that had taken a liking to her. Turns out that the woman had in fact murdered her husband due to her not taking her medication for schizophrenia. Always a logical explanation. Once you eliminate the impossible, all that remains, however improbable, must be the truth. When Sherlock was lost in the deduction, John had slipped to the hallway and once he had located Sherlock's blazer and coat, had removed Sherlock's keys from the coat pocket and placed them into the blazer breast pocket before slipping back to the living room and covering up his activities with a toilet excuse.

So here they were, standing outside 221B Baker Street, in the snow. Everything was going to plan. John looked down at his feet then looked up with a gentle smile. As Sherlock continued fumbling around, his loose curls flopping over his face, John strode over and grabbed Sherlock by the shoulder and delicately placed his hand into Sherlock's blazer breast pocket. He could feel Sherlock's body warmth against his hand. He looked into Sherlock's eyes for a moment, his pupils dilating. For a moment, the two stood there, locked frozen in each other's gaze. John pulled the keys from Sherlock's pocket. 

"They were here the entire time Sherlock, I thought I heard them when you were jumping about."

"Oh, right."

John unclasped his hand and held out the keys to Sherlock. Sherlock took them with a nod of gratitude before ascending the steps. John looked down at his feet again. He had cold feet. Literally and figuratively. He thought his legs might fail him and collapse beneath him. This was the moment. The moment that could be the beginning of something great, or see a permanent end to everything they had worked for together. John zipped up his jacket further, eyeing the mistletoe above the door. He heard the familiar click of the lock as Sherlock turned the key.

"Sherlock...-"

Sherlock turned around slowly, his brow furrowing in annoyance. 

"What, John?"

"Look up."

Sherlock slowly turned his head upwards, his eyes meeting the leafy plant tied in red ribbon above him. He looked...confused.

"So, what? It's just a plant John, it's not going to eat you! I know Mrs.Hudson's decorating strikes fear into the hearts of every person residing in London, but it's nothing to be frightened of."

John just stood there, silent; unsure of how to proceed.

"It's special. It's a Christmas tradition."

"Because we don't have enough of that already..."

"Sherlock!!"

"What's the big deal? What does it do? Unless it fruits a unicorn with three legs, I'm hardly interested."

John smiled warmly and walked up the steps towards Sherlock, until he was standing facing him. The bell of St.Paul's Cathedral chimed in the distance, echoing clearly and through the crisp December air. They were standing face to face. Sherlock began to ramble, still oblivious.

"Let me show you, idiot."

Suddenly, John grabbed the lapels of Sherlock's coat mid ramble and pulled him in close for a kiss. He felt Sherlock jump- he was caught off guard. He felt Sherlock's soft lips against his own, bringing the warmth and feeling back to them. Sherlock did not pull away. Both of their eyes were closed and all they could feel was the feeling of skin against skin. Their breath, visible in the air; mingled together as John placed one hand against Sherlock's cheek, pulling him in closer. Sherlock began to reciprocate, smashing his lips against John's, feeling the unfamiliar beat of his rapid heart against his ribcage. He didn't know he needed this until now. He reached out his ungloved hand and placed it firmly in John's hair, pulling lightly. Both of them were consumed by this kiss, that was the perfect equilibrium between passion and all-consuming fire. All they knew was this moment, and nothing else mattered. If people walked by and witnessed this scene, well let them watch.

After a minute or two, John finally pulled away. He smiled sweetly at Sherlock before pushing the door open and walking away into the hallway without a word, leaving Sherlock stuttering on the doorstep.


End file.
